


Boys in Brass

by Krennthief



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 11:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18894007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krennthief/pseuds/Krennthief
Summary: William Riker, Enterprise High orchestra’s star trombonist, is tasked with getting the transfer student, Worf, to the same level as the rest of the band.





	Boys in Brass

Worf, son of Mogh, put down his trumpet in disgust. William “Call-Me-Will” Riker sat on the stool opposite him and tisked, concerned for the fate of Enterprise High’s orchestra at the regional tournament this Saturday. The two teens were onstage, alone in the school’s shockingly lavish auditorium, Will having declared that he would “dedicate the rest of the week trying to help the new Klingon kid with the material.”

Worf sighed. It was already Thursday.

“Look,” Will said, a fuzzy warmth in his voice as he looked directly into Worf’s eyes, “We need you. And you know what? You can do this. _We_ can do this. Now, let’s take it from the top, okay, Worf?”

*          *          *          *          *          

Will, the orchestra’s nearly virtuosic and sole trombonist (and consequently, somewhat of a teacher’s pet), had approached Mr. Picard, the orchestra’s director, earlier that afternoon and argued that if Worf wasn’t ready, they should just sit him out.

“You know as well as I do, Mr. Riker, that our Miles is no Davis,” Picard grumbled. “O’Brien’s lungs are shallower than his ego, and _that’s_ saying something. Worf, on the other hand…”

Mr. Picard grimaced and sighed, rubbing his hand along his bald head anxiously. “While the boy is not quite _refined_ , you’ve _heard_ the sheer power with which he plays, correct?”

Will’s eye twitched as he stared at Picard’s goldfish, which was the only hint of any personality in the celebrity of a band director’s surprisingly blank office. Will knew of Picard’s brilliance and artistry. The man had an inspiring streak of success, being a prodigy similar to himself in his youth. His admiration for Picard had never wavered, but Will was beginning to grow weary of his director’s cryptic wisdom. And it wouldn’t hurt to throw up a motivational poster of some kind.

“You’re right,” Will managed to say, “Worf does have the potential. With the strings having trouble, too, I know you can’t help him yourself. Why don’t you get Miles to do it? He’s the actual trumpeter.”

“Miles O’Brien,” Picard began, lowering his voice to a hush as if Miles were just outside the door, “would not be capable of appeasing Mr. Worf’s reluctant nature. I am very aware, Mr. Riker, that you are equally competent with the trumpet as you are with trombone. You are free to use a school trumpet if you so desire, and perhaps assigning you to help Worf can also…”

Picard raised his eyes to meet Will’s. He grinned a knowing grin and raised his eyebrows.

“Ugh, I know, I know, sir,” Will said, embarrassed. “Keep me out of trouble.”

“Very good, then, Will. I’m investing my complete confidence in you. Dismissed!”

Will nodded and began heading out of the office before he stopped himself and added, “If it takes me all week, I will get Worf to our level, sir.”

*          *          *          *          *          

“It’s hopeless, Will,” Worf said. “This solo is too complicated. My old school played much simpler music without all of the annoying melodic nuance of this _Jean Baptiste Arban_ that your director chose for us to play.”

Will made a strange face, as if something Worf said had been absurd.

“What? Why are you making that face?” Worf exclaimed, already irritated at himself and now ready to be irritated with Will.

“It’s just…” Will began. “You know, I’d like to know what kind of music you played at your old school. What, do you not like ‘The Carnival of Venice’?”

“That is _not_ the issue,” Worf growled. “I’ll have you know that I very much indeed _like_ this music. The problem is that I am used to the triumphant. The bombastic! The way that _you_ hold your trumpet, how you somehow flutter your fingers so quickly and correctly…I cannot achieve that level of dexterity.”

“Worf, I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again,” Will said, “practice makes perfect. And besides, you’re getting better. That solo is a killer and it isn’t your fault that you’re not nailing such a high-level part.”

Sighing again, Worf raised his trumpet and turned his sheet music back to the beginning of his solo.

It was already 7:00 PM, and even Mr. Picard and the strings had left hours ago, having perfected their toughest parts.

In the middle of Worf’s umpteenth try, two heads began to bob up out of the orchestra pit. Worf, startled, nearly dropped his trumpet as Geordi and Data emerged, their school uniforms somewhat disheveled.

“How long were you two down there?” Riker called to the duo. “And weren’t you supposed to be practicing with the strings, Data? I swear I didn’t see either of you come in.”

“Oh, um,” Geordi began, “we—”

“We were merely going over Geordi’s flute part, Will,” Data interjected. “The transition was really stumping him. Oh, and the director let me go early because I was the only one who had mastered the parts. We must have gotten here before you two.”

“Y-yeah!” Geordi said, clearing his throat, “That’s _all_ we were doing down there!”

Worf and Riker exchanged skeptical glances at each other, and then looked at Geordi.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” he said with a nervous quiver in his voice. “Anyway, Worf, you’re starting to really sound pretty good, right, Data?”

Data glanced between Will and Worf emotionlessly and merely nodded his head slowly, turning to look cluelessly at Geordi.

“Data! I’m sorry about him, guys. You can really be tactless, sometimes, you know that, Data? Come on, let’s get outta here.”

Muttering angrily, Geordi grabbed Data’s arm and the two gradually made their way out of the auditorium up an aisle while Worf and Will watched, captivated by their buffoonery.

“That was…something,” Worf finally said, still wondering what they were doing down there. “What’s their deal?”

Will raised his eyebrows and chuckled to himself. “You mean, you can’t tell, Worf? They’re painfully obvious about it, even during class. Of course, they want to keep it a secret, but you could see it in Geordi’s eyes.”

Still confused, Worf cocked his head to the side slightly. “How could you see anything in Geordi’s eyes? He’s always wearing his VISOR.”

“You know what I mean! Even with that thing on, Geordi’s easier to read than a _Garfield_ strip,” Will said. “I mean, isn’t is obvious? They’re dating, Worf.”

Worf felt his face heat up. He was aware that he tended to be a little dense, but this still made him feel foolish.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Will said, a playful undertone in his voice. “You and me got a date with each other right here and now.” He patted his stool. “Just a couple of horny boys blowing one out onstage, am I right?”

Even though he was aware that Will was joking, Worf was embarrassed that Will had the gall to utter such an innuendo.

“I’m sorry,” Will laughed, “you’re right. That was a bad one.”

Worf smiled. He had to admit, Will’s charisma was infectious.

*          *          *          *          *           

It was nearly 11:00 PM when Will finally walked Worf home. Worf lived a block further than Will, so it was the least he could do for Worf, who had been working so hard all week.

“I’m glad your folks aren’t the type who get angry if you stay out late,” Will said, a hint of jealousy coating his words.

“They urge for me to ‘have fun’ and ‘be a teen,’ and for as much as they dote on me, they respect my privacy,” Worf responded informatively. “I sense from your tone that you may not experience the same leniency, Will.”

“Well, you sensed correctly, Worf.”

Suddenly, Will let out a cold, dark laugh and said, “My dad’s a complete hardass. No matter what I do, in his eyes, I’m doing it wrong. I get into fights at school? He doesn’t ask me about my side of the matter. I join the school’s orchestra and become the best trombonist they’ve seen in years? He says I should have gone for athletics. Nothing pleases that bastard, and at this point, I don’t know what will.”

Worf didn’t respond for a few moments, the sound of their footsteps against the pavement echoing among the houses of their neighborhood. Will hoped that Worf wouldn’t see his eyes beginning to water as they neared the next streetlight. 

“I...I’m sorry to hear that, Will,” Worf said gently. “If it’s any consolation, I am certain that my parents wouldn’t mind you staying over. Especially if you do not feel comfortable at h--”

“Worf, please,” Will breathed, “I appreciate the sentiment. But you don’t have to--” 

“I insist,” Worf said, a sudden sturdiness in his tone. “If it weren’t for my technical incompetencies with the trumpet, you would more than likely have gotten home at a reasonable hour.” 

Under his breath, Will mumbled, “If only that were the case,” and sighed.

The two had finally approached Worf’s house. It was larger than Will’s, and much nicer. Thinking about it, Will was dreading the idea of going home and having to face his dad’s wrath. Worf’s offer was starting to sound more and more appealing.

“Thank you for walking with me, Will,” Worf said. “Now, are you sure that you don’t want to--”

“Worf! You’re back so late!” the friendly voice of a woman exclaimed from behind the screen of Worf’s front door. It swung open to reveal a small, portly woman, followed shortly by a man not much taller than she.

“I apologize, Mother. As the tournament draws nearer, I find it more and more imperative that I am able to get my parts learned effectively.”

“Oh, Worf, you have no need to worry!” Worf’s father said, beaming with pride. “Dedication is the key to success! I mean, look at this boy right here!” He gestured toward Will and graciously added, “A truly dedicated compatriot to our son here, eh, Helena?”

Worf’s mother nodded and smiled at Will. “Thank you so much for looking after our son. He tells us how skilled you are in the orchestra. We cannot wait to come and support you this Saturday!”

“Mother! You are embarrassing me,” Worf said.

Worf’s parents laughed at this, clearly enjoying Worf’s embarrassment.

Smiling sheepishly, Will backed away from the family reunion. “I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Worf.”

The family turned to face Will and bid him a fond farewell.

“Thank you again, Will,” Worf called as Will started to leave. “And if you change your mind, let me know!”

Will waved politely as he watched Worf and his family step back into their house. He knew that he wouldn’t be getting such a warm welcome upon his arrival home.

*          *          *          *          *         

Sneaking through his own bedroom window was something Will had gotten used to in the past few years. Unfortunately, so had his father.

As Will silently placed the window cover back where it belonged on the frame, he turned and found himself face-to-face with his dad.

“Hey, dad,” Will said shakily, his voice betraying him as he slowly set down his trombone case. “I smell a nice new aftershave. What’s it called? ‘Four-or-five-beers’?”

Will’s dad said nothing and grabbed him by the arm, flinging him onto his bed. 

Feeling the bruise from where his dad grabbed him, Will rubbed his arm and grimaced. “Must’ve been the whole six-pack, huh, dad?”

“Do you know what time it is, son?” his father spat.

“Dad, I’ve been over this with you. I’m helping my friend in the orchestra. We just went later than usual tonight, that’s all.”

“I don’t wanna hear it. I know what you’ve been doing after school. You should be ashamed of yourself,” he said, menace lurking somewhere in his voice.

Will swallowed, nervously staring at his father’s clenched fist. “I know. I got into a fight. But that was last week, dad. I swear, I’m only--”

His father kicked over his trombone case. “You don’t get a say in this. You are coming straight home after school tomorrow and cleaning this house. You got that?”

Anger welling up inside of him, Will’s eyes darted down to his toppled trombone case.

“Dad. I paid for that trombone myself. You need to be more careful with it. It’s expensive.”

“I’m sorry,” his dad said, clearly unapologetic. “Did I scratch up your little instrument, son?” He kicked the case again.

Now seething with rage, Will stood up and looked his father dead in the eye.

“Oh, man. If only mom could see what a piece of shit you’ve been to me all these years,” Will said, fire coating his insides.

This was the straw that broke his father’s back. He swung his fist into Will’s left cheek, knocking him down against his bed again. Feeling the swelling immediately, Will swept his dad’s legs and grabbed his trombone case. His dad fell backward, yelling.

Will escaped through the window again, narrowly avoiding his father’s grasping hands. Without thinking, he ran toward Worf’s house. 

*          *          *          *          *          

“I’m so sorry, I can’t apologize enough for causing such a ruckus.” 

“No worries, no worries at all, my boy! You are free to stay here if you need to. I should be the one apologizing to you for the situation you are in.”

“Thank you, sir. So much, sir.” 

Worf sat at the bottom of the stairs in his pajamas, watching as his father consoled a distraught Will. He hadn’t even fallen asleep before Will appeared at their front door again, cheek swollen and bruised, tears streaking down his face, trombone case in hand. As Worf’s father comforted Will, he could hear his mother’s voice coming from the kitchen. It sounded like she was calling the police.

“Yes, hello? I would like to report an incident of domestic violence. Me? No, I’m okay. However, my son’s friend appeared at our house with some bad bruises and said that his father had hit him. Yes, you want our address? It’s…”

Worf felt a pang of guilt as he watched his father place a bag of frozen peas on Will’s cheek.

“...Worf…”

If only he could get the hang of his solo sooner, this might not have happened.

“...Worf?”

And even with all the time he had wasted with no improvement today, they only had maybe a few more hours tomorrow to get it right.

“...Worf!”

All of this felt like his fault, but he had no idea how he could fix anything. 

“Hey, Worf.”

Worf felt a light tap on his shoulder as he realized he had spaced out for a moment. His father stood with Will beside him.

“Can you find an extra pair of pajamas for Will and get them ready for him? Your mother says that the police should be here in about ten minutes. They’re going to ask him a few questions and more than likely fill out a report to follow up tomorrow. They said that they’ll decide if it’s okay for him to stay here depending on how he answers them.”

“Yes, of course, father,” Worf said, nodding.

Right on schedule, the police arrived and briefly interviewed Will, whose formerly confident voice was undercut drastically by an affected, anguished tone. Worf’s shock was almost as severe as Will’s, and after the police thanked Will for his time and allowed him to stay, without thinking, Worf gently pulled Will into a wordless embrace. 

Worf’s mother and father watched with tears in their eyes as the boys rocked back and forth, swaying as calmly as a feather on a breeze. 

*          *          *          *          *           

After school the next day, Will brought Worf down to the orchestra pit. Will was tired of the passing glances he got from the other students throughout the day. While he had still not heard if there had been any updates about last night’s incident from Worf’s parents or the police, it was clear that the students had come up with their own asinine theories about why his face was so badly bruised and swollen. Mr. Picard had even expressed a deep concern, kindly offering any support or guidance should Will request it. Will didn’t want to talk about it, though, and figured that, if he could help Worf in a place that they couldn’t be seen, he’d be better off for it.

“I’ve never been in such a large orchestra pit before,” Worf said as they descended the steps, obviously trying to get Will’s mind off of things.

“Yeah,” Will said, “since the famous Jean-Luc Picard is not only our orchestra’s director, but also the head of our arts department, getting grant money to fund things is incredibly easy. You’ve got to wonder if grant writers are biased towards famous people or something.” 

Worf smiled cautiously. He was treading on eggshells all day with Will, following him like a shadow in an attempt to keep the other kids from bothering him with more than just their stares. Worf took pride in his ability to intimidate people with what he considered to be a “steely glare.”

They set up their music stands and sat facing each other. 

“You ready for this, Worf?”

He nodded at Will’s question.

Focus. It was time to focus.

Worf lifted his trumpet to his lips and breathed in slowly. He couldn’t let Will down. Will was strong, and Worf respected that. Admired it, even. Through one of the most challenging nights of Will’s life, Worf saw a boy whose passions and kindness shone like a beacon through the fog. He just had to make sure he didn’t let Will down, or else everything would have been for nothing. Worf breathed out.

Again, focus. Worf was at ease down here with Will. The world seemed still, and he felt as though there was finally some control. Their eyes met as Worf breathed in once more, and Will smiled a warm smile, his cheek still puffed out and purple.

“Let’s take it from the top, Worf.”

*          *          *          *          *          

As the judges made their final decisions, Enterprise High’s orchestra seemed to collectively be holding its breath. Mr. Picard’s hand squeezed Will’s shoulder tightly, but not painfully, as he maintained a stoic face. If Will had not been on the receiving end of Picard’s stress-grip, he would not have even realized that Picard was as nervous as he was.

The judges were shuffling around on stage now, and each school’s orchestra was quietly sat in their respective sections of the audience.

“You all performed outstandingly,” Picard said, loud enough for his orchestra to hear, but soft enough so that his voice would not carry in the auditorium. “Let’s just hope that the judges can recognize that.”

Will looked behind him to see Worf glancing back at where his parents sat in the audience. Throughout the performance during his rests, Will had tried to scan the audience to find his own father, but to no avail. Will wasn’t surprised at his father’s absence. Only disappointed and hurt.

Worf turned just in time to see Will scanning the audience once again. Leaning forward, he grabbed Will’s free shoulder and murmured, “My parents have invited you to come to Chili’s with us after this. You are free to come if you wish.”

Will smiled gently and put his hand on Worf’s, keeping it there as one of the judges finally cleared his throat into the microphone, which provided some brief feedback. 

“Your third place regional champions are...The Hood High School Senior Orchestra, directed by Robert DeSoto!”

Will heard some polite applause throughout the audience, but an especially excited fervor of clapping coming from where the Hood High students themselves were sitting. Picard and the Enterprise orchestra clapped politely, as well.

“In second place…” the judge croaked, “...We have the Krayton Academy for Gifted Ferengi’s orchestra directed by DaiMon Tog!”

Again, the auditorium filled with applause, this time with much more excitement. Picard clapped especially loudly at this, yelling above the noise, “Good show! Good show!”

“And finally,” the judge said, his dry mouth smacking into the microphone unflatteringly, “for our first place champions are…” 

The auditorium fell completely silent. Will felt Picard and Worf’s hands tightly clenching his shoulders as he gripped Worf’s hand as tightly as he could.

“...Enterprise High School’s ‘Orchestra of the Stars,’ directed by Jean-Luc Picard!” 

The audience exploded into applause as the whole of the Enterprise orchestra burst from their seats. Will turned to see tears of joy, hugging, kissing, and dancing from his peers. Deanna and Beverly demonstrated an act of PDA that Picard would normally break up in class, but his usual strictness was thrown out the window with the announcement. Geordi and Data hugged tightly, a tear rolling down from behind Geordi’s VISOR. Even O’Brien, who had loudly proclaimed that his performance had been lacking, high-fived the typically meek flutist Reggie Barclay, who had been crying during the entire performance.

Will and Worf did not hesitate to grab each other and hug tightly. They didn’t let each other go for what felt like minutes. Both boys cried. They had done it.

Without Will, Worf couldn’t have done it, and without Worf, Will couldn’t have done it.

Outside of the auditorium, Picard held a short speech for his orchestra and their families. Again, Will and Worf noticed a glaring absence of Will’s father. The police may have let him off with a warning, but he still refused to attend. A bittersweet feeling washed over Will as he simultaneously felt relief and despair in his father’s absence.

Recognizing the menagerie of emotions Will must have been going through in that moment, Worf held Will’s hand tightly and the two listened to Picard ramble on about how great these children were, and how he had learned so much from them in the span of a year, and how he had not always been comfortable around children, among other things.

The two boys looked each other in the eyes as they stood before Picard amidst their peers, proudly smiling at who they were in that moment. There were still two years left for them together at Enterprise High School. Images of what the years would bring flashed in their minds. The hardships. The struggles. The hopes and the fears. Before, these thoughts would have certainly drowned Worf, and with everything that had been happening for Will, without Worf, he, too, would have drowned. 

Alone, a trombone may sound just fine, but one could argue that there is a certain completeness when it is paired with a trumpet. A togetherness. A unity. A harmony.

And without even thinking about it at all, Will and Worf had found their harmony.


End file.
